


Have Your Cake & Eat It Too

by Sapphylicious



Category: KAT-TUN (Band)
Genre: M/M, Strippers, Vampire Hunters, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 12:24:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphylicious/pseuds/Sapphylicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kame and Jin are strippers who moonlight as vampire hunters. Or should that be the other way around?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have Your Cake & Eat It Too

The cake is plaster. It's textured to look real enough from a distance, but up close it's obviously fake, even shoddy and chipped in places, and Kame doesn't want to think about how that makes everything even worse. The whole cake is white with ropes of painted pink frosting draped along the sides, crinkled tissue flowers and limp ribbons lining each of the three tiers that are altogether a little over a meter tall. Big enough for one person to hide in, sure. Two is a little problematic. It definitely looked bigger taking up space in the back of the van.

"Are you serious?" Jin stops fiddling with the magnets holding the seams of his pants together—probably a good thing, now isn't the time yet to start flashing people—to stare at the cake like he's not entirely convinced it's real. He shoots their bodyguard, then the van, a suspicious look. "Please tell me you brought another one."

Koki grins. "Nope. Tonight's entertainment calls for two strippers, one cake. Shut up and get in, it's almost time." He grabs a short step ladder and plunks it down next to the cake.

"There's no way I'm going to fit in there with—"

"Move," Kame interrupts. He doesn't bother getting into an argument, just brushes past Jin to place a hand on the edge of the cake and a foot on the step, swinging one leg into the hole of the top layer. No problem, except he doesn't take into account that the stupid thing would start rolling on its wheeled platform, making Koki scramble to secure it. Abject humiliation barely avoided, that still leaves him standing inside a fake cake wearing nothing but a thong under tear-off pants, shirt cuffs, and a bowtie collar. Kame turns around in the space slowly until he's facing a very dubious Jin in an identical costume. He musters the confidence to say: "We'll fit. It'll just be... tight."

Jin eyes the cake, Kame in the cake, and in another time and another place he might have laughed—not a hurtful kind of laugh, but a carefree, incredulous kind that fills all the space beneath the breadth of sun and sky. Here and now, though, in the parking garage of an apartment complex where their audience awaits in the penthouse above, he just crooks a narrow smile with the edge turned outward and says, "Right. Well, if Kamenashi says so, by all means, let's get this show started."

"You're the one holding us up," Kame points out just low enough to create the illusion that it isn't meant to be heard. He promptly ducks down into the hollow cake, curling in as much as possible to make this work. Tacky or not, he's going to make this spectacle work. There's a muffled thump, and the inside becomes dimmer for a moment, and then Jin's leg is warm against his side.

Jin awkwardly hunkers down in the diminutive area and swears, breath suddenly hot and near. "Fuck, really? 'Big enough for two,' my ass!"

Kame keeps his eyes trained resolutely on the bumpy plaster wall and grimaces. He's pressed against the angles of the tiers so tight that he's afraid something will break, and he's pretty sure it won't be him or Jin. "Move a little," he grits out between his teeth.

"Move where?!"

Kame closes his eyes briefly before opening them again and glancing around to take in the situation. The problem is that the top is so much narrower than the bottom and from the shoulders up they're going to be crushed together no matter what. "Okay," he says, and wets his lips to stall the suggestion that follows. "Okay. Turn this way."

Jin turns with a readiness that Kame isn't prepared for and suddenly they're face to face, but Kame's good at training his features into neutrality. Jin, in contrast, doesn't hide his curiosity, the frustration gone as if it'd never been there. "I guess that's a little better," he admits, and the lingering scent of his last cigarette tugs an answering craving from inside Kame.

"Yeah," Kame grunts; there's still an edge digging into his back, but he'll manage.

"You guys ready?" Koki's face appears above. "Man, you're really packed in there like sardines."

Jin jostles them both to free an arm and flip Koki off, but it feels like a futile gesture when a sheet of paper is soon pulled over the opening and stapled down. Kame hears the clatter of Koki shaking a can of whipped cream, and the foamy spray of it being swirled across the thin cover.

"Oi," Jin says in a hushed undertone that Kame can feel on his neck, skin prickling.

"What?" he can't help but mumble in response, for a moment pitched backwards to a time when they huddled together in a tent and whispered for hours. He shakes himself out of it and tries to ignore how his spine aches.

"You—" But then Jin sighs and Kame can't stand another one of those warm addiction-tinged gusts.

"Stop," he commands.

"What?" Jin challenges, these days more automatically defensive and less purely confused.

"Stop breathing." Kame aims his determined glare at a spot beyond Jin's shoulder, but even that's not safe when he can still see the way Jin's jaw tightens in his peripheral vision. Feels the way his chest expands with an indignant intake of air.

"Excuse me for—"

"Quiet down!" Koki orders from outside, emphasizing the point with a thump. "I'm taking you up now. Wait for the signal."

They quiet down, enough to suffocate in the silence, choking back the words that they've only been able to say in bits of sharp, pointed slivers. Skin to skin like this, the edges cut in even if they're not trying. 

The small wheels of the cart turn without squeaking at least, and all there is to hear are Koki's muffled footfalls. Then the world tilts slightly as they're pushed up a ramp to the elevator. Kame realizes with a hiss of displeasure that he's going to have an obvious red line emblazoned on his back when he comes out, but there's no room to get away from the corner. The pressure eases just a tad when the floor levels off again and they come to a halt inside the elevator.

Jin's annoyed " _tch_ " is all the warning Kame gets before a hand settles on his bent knee, pushing his legs apart and pulling him forward until personal space is a thoroughly dashed dream. "Better," Jin whispers in a tone that dares him to disagree. Kame is straddling Jin's lap and they're more... centered now, in the confined area, but "comfortable" is a cliff where they're perched on the edge. The touch of Jin's splayed hand between his back and the jutting tier promises to either send him over or keep him anchored. He already knows Jin is capable of both.

They stay poised like that until the elevator comes to a stop at the top floor with an echoing chime. Kame's hands ripple up Jin's shoulders of their own accord and automatically straighten his collar. He doesn't miss the quirky upturn of Jin's mouth. _Ignore it_ , he tells himself. They have a job to do. Koki knocks on the door, and mingled voices and laughter wash out when it opens. Feminine chatter escalates before it drops in an anticipatory hush.

It's the bachelorette party of some wealthy young thing whose friends can afford over-the-top, expensive entertainment. Normally he prefers to perform in the club, but in the absence of set lists and schedules, private parties tip extremely well to keep the show going. Two strippers in a cake, as per the bride-to-be's request, and Kame counts himself lucky that she doesn't want them dressed as plumbers or something. Kame meets Jin's eyes over the _thump-thump_ of a discreet knock on the plaster wall. 

In the stale, stuffy darkness, he gathers a breath and pushes up, hands and arms first through the flimsy paper cover and spreading the flaps aside to avoid getting whipped cream in his hair. He's ready with a smile despite wanting to blink under the bright lights, surrounded by the gleam of jewelry and cocktail glasses. The applause and shrieks of delight double when Jin rises beside him.

They've sort of rehearsed, and they know what they're being paid for. Touching is a given—even pressed together like this, that's expected, and it's not so bad with performance to fall back on. Kame slides a hand up Jin's chest, smearing a streak of whipped cream in his wake, but before he withdraws to lick his fingers like he's supposed to he spends some time flirting dangerously near Jin's collarbones. 

They stray further off script when Jin grabs his wrist, and the panicky-annoyed flash in his eyes is for Kame only. Kame permits a smirk in response, but it freezes in place at the wet sweep of Jin's tongue along his middle finger, curling between the fork of it and the index. He laps Kame's palm once, then twice like an afterthought, first for the sweetness of cream and second for the salt of skin. The flex of Kame's digits is unbidden, but right, fingertips grazing Jin's cheek.

The rest is simple routine. Koki assists in getting them out of the cake with more grace than he had getting them in, fortunately for all, and the music they picked beforehand thrums from the sound system. They have a rapt audience, many of them already a bit tipsy, and the bride-to-be is red-faced but laughing as they both pay her special attention. Throughout the performance Kame switches between her, whoever's tipping him, and Jin. The third song in he saunters up behind Jin and slips his fingers into the waistband of his pants; a predetermined move that Jin plays along with, reaching a hand back to shift through Kame's hair. Kame sees an opportunity for revenge and bites down lightly on Jin's wrist, teeth skimming the vulnerable tracing of veins. After he's lingered for just the right amount of time and has everyone watching, he gives a good, clean yank on the satin fabric. The magnets pull apart and the pants fly off. When the shouts and catcalls die down, Kame lets one of the ladies personally strip his in exchange for a crisply folded bill.

There's a no-touching rule in the club, though it gets bent when occasion permits, and off-site jobs tend to permit. Kame winds up reclining on a table to let guests do body shots off his belly. He proposes the idea before anyone can ask. If asked, Jin would decline, he's a big upholder of the no-touching rule and he only dances onstage with certain people at the club. This event is the first time Kame's been included on his list of agreeable partners.

When Jin first showed up at One Drop looking for a job, Kame thought he'd last a couple nights, no more than a week. In part because Kame already worked there, but maybe that just made Jin more determined. And maybe Kame had made it into some kind of challenge. 

The thing is, though, Jin loves dancing. He's good at it—much more than good—and the shimmer of body glitter catches Kame's eye as Jin earns his share with the roll and sway of his hips. A brief glimpse, then Kame has to focus on the sugar being sprinkled around his navel and the splash of vodka pooling in the shallow concave there. The lemon wedge is balanced next to it, and a woman ducks her face to suck up the liquor.

The touch of her tongue is cold, a shock of ice on his skin, and the muscles of his abdomen jump in reflex. He forces himself still and doesn't twitch again when a hint of teeth scrape the sensitive area around his bellybutton before biting viciously into the fleshy pulp of the lemon. Kame controls his breathing and fixes his gaze on the back of her head—there's a thorny rose tattoo on her upper back, just below the nape where her hair parts to either side. Finished, she pulls away with a lick across her lips, more hunger than satisfaction, and the lights are just low enough to reveal the traces of eyeshine reflected back at him for a brief moment.

His smile stays in place and he says the things he's expected to say, flirty and inviting. There are more shots, more dancing, and he teasingly charges extra when a particularly drunk guest gropes his ass. In the scant seconds when no one's aware he sees Rose Tattoo approach Jin and offer the money folded in her cleavage. Jin's two fingers dip between her breasts to withdraw the bills, a lot of them, and when she says something to him he kisses the number printed on the cash in response.

The image replays itself behind Kame's eyes as he sinks into a chair and spreads his legs, drawing a hand provocatively up his thigh. He arches and grinds as long as the steady tips keep flowing, so much stiff paper passing to his hands and being tucked into the elastic of his waistband that the scent of it sticks to his skin.

#

The women's pockets are deep, but not endless, and an hour later Kame and Jin are dressing in their spare clothes in a luxurious Western-style bathroom. Kame tries not to send the huge shower stall with its pristine glass doors and gleaming tiles yearning looks as he pulls a shirt on over his head. There's sweat, alcohol, and dozens of perfumes to wash off when he gets home. As a bonus, there might be blood by then, too.

"Akanishi," he begins with stiff professionalism in the name, though the way it echoes in the room seems self-mocking.

"What? Shit—" Jin mutters, bent over the sink and waving his hands in front of the sensor beneath the electronic faucet to turn it back on. A trickle of water pours into his cupped palms and he scrubs vigorously over his face with a lot more splashing than is necessary.

Kame is all too aware of the makeup still clinging to his own features. _Later_ , he tells himself. _Work first._ "Did you notice? One of the guests—"

"With the tattoo, yeah." Jin is so quick to confirm that even the slightest lingering doubt is erased. His wet hands sweep his hair back and he squarely meets Kame's gaze in the mirror. Kame isn't used to seeing him this starkly, though the landscape of his face hasn't changed too much. The shape of his eyes, the mole dotting the corner, the pout of his lips and the curved line of his jaw. Memory-matching details.

"Yes, her," Kame says, closing an imaginary fist around the reins of his thoughts.

Jin dries his face and then leaves the towel rumpled on the rack where it came from. "I'll take care of it." His brow wrinkles as Kame reaches out to straighten the towel like the considerate guests they're supposed to be, and when he's done the confounded expression has morphed to amusement.

"I'm going with you."

Kame is actually a bit taken aback by the sudden flash of annoyance his statement prompts, a lightning-quick change. "What, are you going to grade me on my performance? No thanks. I can handle it."

Presumptuous ass. Kame snaps, "And what exactly is your plan?" He goes over the replay that's been flickering now and then through his mind. The roll of banknotes. Something like a promise.

"It's exactly none of your business," Jin says with his arms crossed over his chest. Like a kid all ready to stamp his foot. Kame rolls his eyes and more thunderclouds gather between them.

"You're meeting her later tonight, aren't you? She's starving for it—I thought she was going to take a bite out of me right there. She'll go straight for the throat before you even get through the doorway."

"I said I can handle it."

_Leave him alone, he doesn't want help._ Kame turns around. 

Stops. 

Starts again with roll of his neck and a sigh. "Let's go." He unlocks the door and breezes through a round of drunken farewells; no, he won't exchange numbers or email addresses, but come see him at the club, it was a fantastic party, congratulations, thank you, goodbye. Rose Tattoo is nowhere to be seen, and Jin follows him to the elevator where they ride down in taut silence.

Koki waits for them by the van. "Finally!" he exclaims when he sees them, jangling the keys in his pocket. "You ladies sure took your sweet time—"

"We're not done for the night." Kame goes to the back of the vehicle and swings the door open. There's the cake, and he has to hand it to Koki for getting the whole thing back into the van by himself, and resting next to it is a sleek rectangular case.

"Ah," Koki says in thankfully simple understanding.

Kame releases both latches with two practiced flicks, lifts the top, and inside gleam three sections of high quality stainless steel pole. Two and a half meters long when attached with up to half a meter of extendable length, five centimeters in diameter, custom made, with removable ceiling and floor plates included. He's learned to bring it with him to every off-site appointment even if the client doesn't request a pole dance.

Jin is a skeptical presence behind his back, snorting when he peers over Kame's shoulder. "Thanks for the thought, but that's not the kind of entertainment she's expecting. Or that she thinks I'm expecting."

"No," Kame says agreeably, hefting the base piece and using the edges of his nails to remove a small pin. He tilts it, and from the bottom of the hollow pole slides a smooth wooden stake, fitting neatly into his waiting hand. The wood is streaked in unusual shades of green-black; lignum vitae, the densest and most durable heartwood on earth, sharpened to a lethal point. " _This_ is the kind of entertainment you're expecting."

He hears Jin suck in a breath and can't help but glance up to see his face. To Kame's surprise, he's grinning broadly. That recognizable shiny-new-toy grin, pulling eagerly at the corners of his mouth. "That's so like you," Jin laughs, a puff of breath that warms the back of Kame's neck. "That's just... so very you."

Koki offers to drive them to the address that Jin has on a folded paper note. Kame protests that the van is too conspicuous, and the last thing they want is to be tracked back to One Drop, but Koki's seen enough by now to insist. "What if you're hurt? You just gonna to bleed out on the street or train? Get in."

He has a point. Kame has to admit that hunting is—not easier, but smoother, maybe, with someone's support. Most hunters do tend to work in pairs. He climbs into the van and studiously does not look over his shoulder when he feels the vehicle rock with Jin's added weight.

"I could still do it on my own," Jin grumbles, mood flipping as easily as a switch. "And she's not expecting both of us. Might make her suspicious."

"Shut up and put your seatbelt on," Koki orders cheerfully, adjusting the rearview mirror and smirking at Jin's scowl.

Meanwhile, Kame secures the stake to the inside of his jacket and makes doubly, triply sure it's easy to withdraw.

#

The address isn't far, taking them to another apartment building. This time when they ride the elevator up to the fourth floor there is ample space between them, but the air is just as thick. He's too aware of Jin, always has been, but it's a distraction now—and partnership, Kame knows, shouldn't be like this. They're not in synch at all. It could be a disaster waiting to happen and maybe Jin has a point, and Kame's been hunting alone for a while now, he wouldn't want a stranger disrupting his rhythm either. He just can't decide if Jin is a stranger or not. The doors sweep open then and there's nothing to do about it but keep going, at least for tonight, just this once.

Jin may have been the one invited, but Kame pushes forward to ring the bell. _Follow my lead,_ he says with the tilt of his head before he puts his game face on. The bridge of understanding that spans between them sways and holds. He grasps at the reassurance. 

They don't have to wait long, he knew they wouldn't, before the door opens and the woman from the party stands there in the frame. She smiles, pretty and puzzled, but a pinch of anxiety tightens her expression. "Well, this is a surprise..."

"I think there's been a misunderstanding," Kame begins, cool but not cold. Jin stands back a little ways behind him. She'd have to be quick indeed to grab them both. "You have to go through the proper channels to buy our time."

Cracks of annoyance and frustration show beneath her modest abashment. "Is that so? Of course, I must not have been thinking. I'm very sorry."

Now he smiles, easy and pleasant, to ward off her suspicion. "No need to apologize. It's just unfair, you see, in such a competitive environment..."

He doesn't have to fish around any more than that when she's this eager and quick on the uptake. He can see the moment it clicks in her head and Rose Tattoo brightens, opening the door a little wider. "I completely understand. Why don't you both come in?" 

"I want the same amount as him." Kame jerks his thumb at Jin as he crosses the threshold. "We're not sharing."

"Unbelievable," Jin mutters under his breath, and gets away with it because he could be referring to the money and not the thoroughness of Kame's performance. The door shuts behind them.

So far she behaves the way Kame expects. A clandestine meeting would be an easy straight-to-her-doorstep meal, and it's not like anyone would raise a fuss over a missing or dead stripper. Both of them arriving get her guard up, Jin was right about that, but she's hungry enough to let it back down at the offer of dinner with just a little bit of inconvenience. Kill one first, quick and clean, then feed on the other. That's her plan, predictable up until now. He makes one mistake.

She goes for Jin first instead of him. Later, Kame will rake himself over the coals for misjudging, for assuming that just because she approached Jin at the party she had a preference. A vampire that hungry has no preference. He shouldn't have thought otherwise. Shouldn't have been so distracted by the fact it's Jin.

Rose Tattoo springs on him, eyes feral and fangs out, and Jin isn't the one ready with the stake. He stumbles and crashes to the floor under her with a broken-off curse.

Kame _feels_ frozen when he sees the blur of movement, but reacts according to pure reflex, something more instinctual than training making him dive forward. He's not sure when he slips the stake free and aims, only that there's a moment when he's on top of the vampire and she thrashes beneath him with a gurgling sound, and Jin's face below is twisted in a grimace. Then the point of lignum vitae pierces through the flesh and muscle of her back, driving into her heart with deadly accuracy. Her outraged howl splits the air and she goes stiff. Kame gets one last glimpse of the inked rose painted on her skin before the body yellows and shrivels, rapidly disintegrating under him.

He drops onto Jin's chest with a crumbling of dust, elbows and knees knocking hard against the floor. The stake falls and rolls, forgotten, as Kame pushes himself up and stares at the blood soaked around the neckline of Jin's shirt.

"Jin. Jin!" Kame's voice breaks around the name. He pulls and peels back the wet fabric with frantic, shaking fingers, grazes them over the delicate skin in search of the tears or bites leaking so much red—

Jin shrieks. It's the kind of screechy, high-pitched noise that Kame hasn't heard since his mother found a rat in the kitchen. Staking the undead doesn't faze her, but the sound of little rodent feet skittering on the linoleum sends her into fits. "Kame!" Jin captures Kame's hands and wheezes, "Look, it's not mine." Something else clatters: a switchblade. Kame recognizes it as the Italian stiletto with mother of pearl inlay that Jin crowed over when he turned sixteen.

"You," he breathes, unable to think of anything else to say.

"Next time, warn me before you use me as bait, yeah?"

Kame doesn't bother correcting him. He just claws up handfuls of Jin's jacket vest and slants his mouth over the playful curve of Jin's lips. There's surprise; he swallows it, pushes with a desperate ache pulsing from his heart through his veins until he realizes Jin is moving against him, with him. He's so relieved it's pathetic. And he doesn't care. He just—wants, the taste of his mouth and the feel of his skin, warm, soft, his.

Jin's hand settles over his nape, playing with the ends of his hair. Kame is pretty sure he's disgusting right now, they both are, covered in blood and sweat and whatever vampire residue is made of. But Jin's other hand is finding its way around his waist, slipping either by accident or with intent under the hem of his jacket and shirt, palming over the small of his back like it belongs there, magnetized. Kame bites down on Jin's lip and growls his pleasure.

Touch, yes, touch is good, unscripted, inquisitive but full of promise. The curl of Jin's tongue against his, the heat of Jin's mouth as he kisses wetly down Kame's jaw and neck. He nuzzles the vibration of Kame's throat when he releases Jin's name into the air.

This. This is fine. _–Isn't it?_ This, Jin determined to wring out another sound from him and Kame unconsciously holds back, digs his heels in, resists. This, finding himself on a precipice and the view is familiar. He can see it happen again behind his eyelids, the rush of everything falling past, the falling in—and the falling out.

_No, no._ Kame breaks away like he's surfacing for air, for oxygen to breathe clean and clear through him, blowing out the confused mess. He's done this before, he can't do it again. He can't make room for Jin and deal with the empty space after. Not the same mistake twice.

"Kame," Jin says, low and uncertain, enough to push or pull. He does neither when Kame drags himself up off the floor, instead letting him slip from his grasp. In a way that settles the lead weight in the pit of Kame's stomach.

"We're done here," he says quietly in the silent room. It's a nice room, he observes in the allowance of trivial distraction, comfortable and lived-in and not so spotless that anyone will notice the extra dust on the floor. Whenever someone gets around to noticing at all. Kame sweeps his gaze down, can't quite take in the entirety of Jin's sprawl, and adds levelly, "Don't get any of that blood on the floor."

He lets himself out, each step mechanic until something jars loose and he lets his shoulder bump the wall. In a moment of pause he leans against it, a barrier of paint and plaster between him and Jin. He's crawled a little further from that edge, but doesn't feel much safer, as if he's not sure of what's beneath his feet no matter where he turns.

#

Jin waits a while before moving. Flaky bits of vampire dust itch on his skin and his nose is filled with the copper-scent of blood where it had fucking gushed from the hole he punctured in the woman's fucking neck. Not enough to kill her, no, but she was the one bleeding, not him. He slaps a hand down, finding his favorite knife and thumbs the cross guard to unlock the blade and fold it closed. There's a smear of red on the floorboards which he rubs out with the relatively clean sleeve of his shirt. It'll still show up with luminol, but this being a vampire's den, he's sure a lot of interesting stains might be found.

Kame's ridiculously high quality stake (where did he get that wood imported from, seriously, and it fits so neatly inside his equally ridiculous portable stripper pole) has rolled to a stop by the wall. Jin scoops it up and flips it in the air. It's got weight to it, deadly in more ways than one, and he guesses he owes Kame for saving his ass. He still could have managed on his own, somehow, but Kame—

First of all, he's got to stop thinking about Kame. Because it's annoying, an itch that digs under the layers of his skin where he can't reach it, the way Kame makes things so unnecessarily difficult and weird and Jin can't do anything but react. To touch him when Kame lets himself close enough, to want to be touched, to kiss back when Kame decides to maul his mouth, to want to punch a hole through the flat screen TV when Kame puts on the brakes and _stops._

"What the fuck," Jin demands of the empty apartment, hands curling in on themselves with the feeling of Kame's warmth memorized in every crease, in every loop and whorl of his fingertips. "What. The. Fuck."


End file.
